Dear Will
by SS Dispatch
Summary: Unsure of how to cope with the loss of her husband to a curse, Elizabeth writes letters and throws them to the sea in bottles, in the hope he might somehow find them. She chronicles her ten years without him, leading all the way up to their eventual reunion.
1. Henry Turner

Dear Will,

I'm almost certain I'm carrying our child. I have nobody to tell. I'm all alone here in Port Royale now that you and father are gone. I don't know why I think you'll see this — but at the same time it makes sense that the ruler of the sea would find a message in a bottle if it was looking for him. I know there's no way that you could ever reply, but it gives me some sense of hope that you might actually read my words. I miss you so terribly, Will. I think of you every day when I watch the sun set. Please be safe out there.

Love,

 _Elizabeth Turner_

P.s. To think I once pretended to be a Turner and now I am one…

* * *

Dear Will,

Our baby is making me sick. I try not to show that I'm with child when I go into the marketplace. I'm certain that if I did I would be ostracized for being pregnant with a bastard child — even though we both know it is not.

You'll never believe where I'm staying right now. I was staying at the mansion until the new governor moved in, and he just arrived last week. For a few days I was more or less homeless, sleeping in empty horse stalls and in empty storefronts at night. One night I snuck in the back entrance to an empty shop and fell asleep in front of the cooling fireplace. I had assumed, like most shops, that the owners would arrive at some point in the morning. I usually would wake up before the dawn and run. But this shop owner lived where he worked. I was woken at dawn by a loud angry shout, and I jumped to my feet - ready to defend myself - only to be face to face with the blacksmith. Yes, the blacksmith who you trained with for so long. I thought he was going to be furious and kick me out, but he wasn't mad and he didn't throw me on the streets. He just wanted to know why a strange woman was sleeping in his shop, in his home.

He started talking to me, asking why I had a need to sleep in such odd places. And something about him made me trust him enough to disclose the truth. I told him that I was pregnant and homeless. He offered me his home almost immediately along with an apprenticeship. He said he missed having an apprentice and that he'd be willing to teach me the trade. Maybe I should tell him what happened to us, what happened to you. No, he would probably never believe it. I know I would never have believed it.

That's all for now my love

As always love,

 _Elizabeth Turner_

* * *

Dear Will,

I love this child with all of my heart. But with every little kick I'm reminded of a dreadful pain. It hurts me to know that this baby will not know its father until it is a full grown child. I fell asleep in tears last night because I realized that you would not see this baby's birth, its first steps, hear its first words, and all sorts of other firsts that are remarkable and irreplaceable. I wish I could change everything about this situation. We should be in the mansion with father, treasuring our future child and whispering stories to it every night. But instead I'm here writing phantom letters that you'll probably never see. I thought it was bad seeing you leave on the horizon on that one day, but this is so much more intense.

Bitterly missing you,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

I've made my own sword today. I'm getting quite a knack for this work. I get nervous from time to time that I'm putting the baby and I at risk by being around all of this fire and clanging metal, but the blacksmith, Christopher, is always very aware of when I should and should not do a certain task. He seems a little protective of me, and it makes me feel safe. Anyway — the sword. I wanted you to know that I engraved your name in the handle, invisible to the naked eye. I figured if I ever find myself in another sword fight, I'll want nothing more than your strength and love at my side. That, and if I should die in a battle, at least I would die with you in some small way. But let's not talk about that. I have to make it to the tenth year. I do all that I can to make sure I do. I may or may not be counting down the days.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

It's been awhile, I know. But I have a good reason. The baby — who I'm suspecting is a rambunctious boy — wasn't kicking as often. It was weeks without a kick or a squirm. Christopher and I got very frightened and we went to see the physician. He suspected that the baby was dead. I weeped for hours and hours. When I had lost all hope of ever having a family with you he kicked, and hard too. It was like it restarted my heart. What should we name this precious child of ours, Will? If we name him William what are we supposed to call him? I don't want to have two Wills! I only want my one perfect Will. I cannot lie, I'm not fond of the name Bill either. William is too formal. I loved my father very much but I do not think Weatherby is a suitable name for our baby. I'll keep dwelling over names. I wish we could talk in person about this. It feels wrong for me to be making this decision alone.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Will,

He's beautiful. He has your eyes. It's like I'm looking right at you when I look at him. He's so fragile and innocent and gorgeous. He's our little Henry. I put him to sleep a few minutes ago by telling him our story. I told him about his brave father who was out sailing the seas and ferrying souls. He will grow up knowing about you and waiting for you like I do.

With all of my love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Will,

I might kill this child. The non-stop screaming is driving me insane. The blacksmith has taken to drinking himself silly just to get a decent night's sleep. If only I could do the same, but I know better than to let rum get to me. Henry hasn't even smiled at me since he was born. Why is this happening? Will, I need you so badly right now. I can't do this by myself. I just can't. Henry needs his father's unwavering love. Here I am, hating him right now, and I know that if you were here you wouldn't be bothered by it. You would lull him to sleep, hold him tight in your arms until he relaxed. But he does not do this with me. I try to sing him to sleep and he just screams louder. I try to hold him and he fights me the whole time. Was I not supposed to be a mother? I'm not sure I can do this.

Yours,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

Things have calmed down now. Henry seems to have got over his month long tantrum. He smiles and coos at me now. I don't know how I ever could have wished ill on this child of ours. He's too beautiful for words. He really does look just like you. I wish you could see his lovely face and talk to him all day with me.

In other news, I've chopped off all of my hair. I had to. I need to pass as a man now in order to keep working here. Until now I was able to hide in the back and work in the shop and never have to leave it. But now we have been getting too many orders and I have to start making deliveries, and unfortunately women are not meant to be blacksmiths (or pirates for that matter) so I have to pretend I am someone that I am not.

If only these people knew I was the pirate king, maybe they would fear me enough to let me do as I please. That would be ideal. But of course they might also try to kill me. Oh well. Male I shall look for now. If I make enough money on my swords I might try to leave this place. There's just so many bitter memories here. The mansion reminds me of the deaths of my parents. Just being here constantly reminds me of you, and all that you used to be before our lives were completely and irreversibly changed. The ships that come in and out of the bay appeal to me each and every day. I miss the spray of the sea so badly. I miss the adventure and the freedom. I didn't have to pretend I was a man to be a pirate. People stopped doubting my capabilities when I got my hands on a sword. Barbossa must have been so surprised when he returned to the land of the living when he saw the innocent, dainty Elizabeth was a murderous pirate.

Henry's woken from his nap. I have to stop babbling now and tend to our hungry child. Keep safe Will.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_


	2. Nassau

Dear Will,

It's been ages since I've written. I'm sorry. I'm certain that you must read these somehow. And I'm sorry if I've worried you with my lack letters. But something terrible happened.

Someone heard Henry crying while the blacksmith and I were out making deliveries. They waited around until we returned and when they saw two "men" they were confused as to how two men came to have a child. They accused us of stealing Ms. Bolingbroke's child who went missing a few weeks back. They went racing through town, screaming that the Bolingbroke baby had been found and that the blacksmiths were harboring him. I knew nobody would believe the truth. So instead of trying to convince the public I ran in and grabbed our baby and my sword, just in case I ran into trouble. I managed to sneak around through the alleys and make it to the docks where I kept my hat pulled down and Henry quiet as I snuck onto a ship. At the time, the sailors were off the ship and I was able to find my way below deck. I heard footsteps above, the returning crew, and made the rash decision of hiding in an empty crate. Other than a few dried herbs that littered the bottom of it, we seemed alone and safe in the little box. Sure it wasn't the greatest solution, but at least for a little while I would be able to hide with Henry without being suspected.

Anyway, I kept there until I heard the crew snoring at night. I only snuck out to steal some drinking water and a chunk of bread to tide myself over until they made port. I kept this routine up for days. It was an incredible pain to keep Henry quiet all of the time. Whenever he did cry it was usually when nobody was below deck anyway. We hid like this for five days before we made port somewhere. I heard the crew leaving the ship and the plank drop onto the dock. I waited a few tense heartbeats before slowly getting out of the crate. My muscles felt like they were shriveling up inside, but I pressed on. I got off the ship without anyone noticing and made my way into the town. I had ended up on the more affluent side of this particular town. I ended up hiding in the governor's garden, as his estate was quite close to shore.

Henry was starting to get really finicky at the point. He was starving because I had eaten only enough to sustain myself, not enough to keep him fed. I knew that staying here was my only chance of survival and that in order to get by I was going to need to get sympathy out of the townsfolk. A man with a baby was a confusing sight to be seen, especially if word had already made it here that a man had stolen a baby.

So I abandoned my hat and stripped off my vest, getting down to my torn and stained white dress shirt. I kicked off my shoes into the bushes and made a point of opening my shirt a few buttons lest my gender was still not plainly obvious. Lucky for me, my hair was already grown out to my shoulders. I buried my sword under some dense shrubbery for safekeeping. I hobbled over to the maid's entrance to the mansion and knocked frantically and loudly, hoping to get attention immediately. Sure enough a young lady answered the door. "My baby is starving. Please. I was kidnapped by pirates and I just managed to escape with my little one. Please help us." Oh you should have seen me, I was weeping up a storm. Of course it was partly genuine because I _was_ starving. Even Henry started to cry with me. The nice maid let me in and fed me immediately. The governor himself came to speak to me that night and said he would allow me to work as his maid until I could get myself back on my feet.

Well, as you can imagine, I had to do a great deal of acting while I was there. Pretending like I was an innocent, sweet girl. Pretending like my husband was dead. Pretending that I gave a damn about the stupid governor's demands. Eventually I scraped by enough money to leave. That's partly why this message took so long. I had to keep up appearances as a maid, and no maid can write. They would have also hung me dry if they saw that I was using the governor's precious ink and paper.

Now back to present. I've purchased a lovely little house on a rural part of the island. I'm sick of living near the crowds of the city. I want to learn how to garden out here and how to keep cows and chickens and sheep. Amazing how far I've come since I was a teenager in Port Royale. Here I am in Nassau, with a three year old son running around my ankles causing turmoil every which way. One day I think I'll teach him sword fighting. But not for awhile. It would be nice if when we meet again you could help him practice. I want nothing more than for you to meet our son. He's got my hair, long and golden brown. He's such a darling. What can I say? We make great babies. If only we could have more.

For now, that's as much as I can write. I'll try to write more often, though hopefully not so wordy as this and the last was. If I recall right, the last one was three years and two months ago. Nearly half of our time apart has gone by. We can make it through this Will. I have faith in you and I have faith in myself.

Love

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will

I realize that because three whole years went by I missed the opportunity to tell you all about Henry's firsts, which is a shame. Since you had to physically miss the events, the least I could have done was tell you about it right away. Virtually all of them happened while I was working as a maid. He lived with me in my cramped closet of a room. His first word came one night when I was telling him a story.

I told him about how his father sailed the seas in the Flying Dutchmen, protecting those that passed away at the sea. I told him about how his mother met his father a long long time ago when she was a little girl and he was a little boy. From the first day they met she promised to watch over him. I whispered to him about how his father had loved his mother from that moment and how it took his mother a long time to see that. I told him about how one day a great adventure happened, involving a certain pirate named Captain Jack Sparrow. I thought I was putting him to sleep, but he was listening enthusiastically the whole time. He looked up at me and babbled in his weird child language and amongst the incoherency I clearly made out the word, "Fader". Isn't it remarkable? His first word was father. I told you I would not let him grow up without knowing all about his father.

His first steps were not exactly steps either. He tried to go from crawling to running. He's going to be so brave, just like you. He knows all our stories by heart. His favorite is the one of us rocking the ship to make it back to the real world from the locker. He thinks it's hilarious. He recently crafted his own little "Black Pearl" out of some dark wood scraps. He likes to tip it over off the table and go "BOOM!" to imitate our tumble down a waterfall. (I'll tell him one day that it was not the Pearl that fell down said waterfall, but for now I don't think it matters to him since he's only three).

Love

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

The neighbors, who actually don't live that close to me, have finally tried figuring out just who I am and what I'm doing here. I managed to convince them that I am a widower to a sailor and that I moved to Nassau for the scenery. Hopefully nobody will pester me now. I hate having to pretend I'm a widower. I think the neighbors are baffled that I'm not still wearing black to honor my husband's death. Well they can have their judgements. I don't care for them.

Meanwhile I've been preoccupied making life comfortable for Henry and I. I have a full fledged garden now that he helps me tend to. A couple cows for milk and butter, a few sheep for wool, and some chickens for eggs. I used what little money I had left from my time as a maid to buy the creatures. I don't know what I'll do when they inevitably pass away. Maybe I can trade some produce for a rooster. Look at me, becoming so domestic. There's a sword above my fireplace for heaven's sake. I truly do long for the sea every day. I sometimes wonder if Jack is going to sweep in out of nowhere (as he tends to do) and I'll get pulled into some nonsense again. Part of me is grateful those days are behind me, but another part secretly hopes that I do get pulled back into the sea faring life.

I can see the ocean from our kitchen window. It makes me long for it again. And by extension, long for you. Sometimes I worry that I will forget what your face looks like. Sometimes I worry you don't look the same. I know you won't have tentacles at least, but sometimes I think the silliest things. Once I had a nightmare when we met after ten years, you had no nose and I didn't recognize you at all. It's ridiculous, of course.

Six years left, my love.

Love,

 _Elizabeth Turner_

* * *

Dear Will,

I've taken to sending Henry down the road to an old maid's house to get an education. She's a wise old crone, and the village children all flock to learn from her. It's not the kind of education I received in the governor's household of course, but how badly does he need to learn Latin anyway? I think it's progress if he can at least learn to write. Maybe when his writing becomes readable he'll write you a letter himself.

Anyway, I meant to write this to confess something. When Henry's at school all day, I've taken to heading down to the docks on the other side of the island. It's a long hike, but it's worth it. I've asked for sailing "lessons" from a local captain who's kind enough. He's a retired navy officer who just fishes for his family now. He's taken me out on his boat a few times with him, and I've helped him catch a few fish on occasion. He doesn't know it, but when he's got his back turned I dip my hand in the water. Can you sense that I'm closer to you when I'm on the water? Such silly questions, I know. Maybe you can't even read these. Maybe you're dead.

I love you will. Please come back to me.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear father,

Hello. I am your son Henry. We have not met yet. But I like you. Mummy tells me a lot about you. She says I look like you. Sometimes when she talks about you she crys. But I pat her hand and tell her it will be okay. I hope I meet you soon father. You sound like a nice man. Is your reel name father or do you have a diffrent name? When I asked mummy she only laffed. Is your name Laffter? Bye bye. I love you.

* * *

Will,

Half our time is already gone. Henry and I have just started to settle down here but I'm going to move us. I need to be ready for when you return. I've sold all our animals and bought a boat with the funds. We're going back to Port Royale. The edge of the island where I last saw you. Nobody lives that far from the port anyway. He will be safer there. He's started to tell the boys at school that he has a father who saves souls. The neighbors have begun to ask questions. We can't last here much longer. I've packed enough to make it all the way there. We'll be healthy. We'll be safe. Goodness knows that I can handle myself on a ship. Especially something as puny as a dinghy. And I know that you'll make sure we're safe. I know we'll never face harm on the seas so long as you rule them.

This might be the last message for a while. I still have to stock up on paper and ink. And bottles. I may or may not steal a chicken from a neighbor's yard when we run in the night. And a goat. If we ever need anything I'll just use the dinghy to sail to the nearest island and steal. Or, you know, flag a passing ship with a giant fire started with a batch of rum. No, those days are behind me. Unfortunately. I wish life was as exciting as it used to be with you, with Jack. I'd kill just to listen to Pintel and Ragetti bicker.

Soon my love. Soon.

Love,

 _Elizabeth Turner_


	3. Fear and Blessings

Will,

The trip made him sick. I walked hours to get to Port Royale to see their physician. He says he cannot help. I just make sure he's fed and keep him comfortable now. When he's hot I take him outside and we lay in the grass. When he's cold he sleeps beside me in the bed, bundled in an extra blanket. If it comes to it … if I know he's going to disappear … I promise I will take him out on the boat so that you can ferry him to the other side. You deserve to see him. Even if he's dead. If he dies I don't know if I could ever forgive myself.

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Will,

As you might have noticed from his lack of presence in your waters, he's survived it. Although it did get so bad that I took him out on the boat, preparing for the worst. It was the middle of the night, when the moon was high and the seas were calm. I was certain he didn't have long. So I held him in my arms and we laid in the boat with the anchor down. He didn't cry. He just asked to hear our story. The whole thing. I believe his exact words were "the whole story mummy, not the baby version. I'm not a baby anymore."

So I did. I gave him the full story of how you and I met, fell in love, and eventually married. I told him how you had resisted becoming a pirate. I told him that his grandfather was a pirate. I told Henry about our interrupted wedding day. I told him the bitter truth of our actual marriage, and how you had nearly died just moments after we were married. I told him how Bootstrap saved your life by making you captain of the Dutchman. I cried a lot. He didn't say anything.

But when I finished telling the story, he pulled himself out of my arms and leaned over the boat to put his hands in the water. I could hear him whispering, "Thank you for loving mummy. Thank you for loving me. Please keep us safe, daddy. And ocean, please keep daddy safe so that I can meet him someday." Since then, he's been fine. I don't know if it was magic or what. But nothing is impossible. We would know.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

After years of horrible luck, it would seem God's graced us with a blessing. And it's about time. Henry and I have been living in an abandoned shack near where I last saw you. I tried to make it habitable, and I did to an extent. Anyway, we have been living here for only a year (side note, Henry's 6th birthday is coming up in a month or so - July 28th) but somehow people in Port Royale knew we were here. Word must have spread when I had rushed into town to see the terrible surgeon they had there. Either way, a member of the governor's guard appeared a week ago and told me I was formally invited to a meeting with the governor himself. Keep in mind, I have no idea who the Governor is, I had never met him. I didn't even know his name.

But I agreed to see him. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew better than to refuse the company of a governor. I took Henry with me, since there was nobody who could have watched him for me. When we arrived, the governor himself greeted us in the foyer and sat us in his office. He was very polite and kind to us, which baffled me. This is essentially the conversation we had:

"I had heard word that there was a woman with a child living on the edge of the island, far out of the city limits."

"Yes, that would be us. Have we done something wrong by living out of the city?"

"No, no. Nothing wrong. I had simply heard of you, and I inquired. I asked around for information. Just to figure out whether or not you posed a threat to me or my people. The only person who could tell me anything was my surgeon. He told me your name was Elizabeth and your son's name was Henry. He couldn't recall a surname. But I didn't need one. A woman, approximately in her twenties, named Elizabeth, living just outside of Port Royale. I quickly figured it out. Elizabeth Swann," He said it with such conviction. He was so self satisfied at having deduced my maiden name, "I have been looking for you for some time now."

"And why might that be?"

"Well, when you were moved out of this estate and I took over there was little we needed to say to one another. However, it was shortly after you left that we discovered Former Governor Weatherby Swann had left a will in a safe that had been well hidden. Obviously, as his only child, you were the main benefactor to his possessions and finances. I have a deep respect for Weatherby and the memory of him, so I tried to find you to be sure that you received what was rightly yours. But no matter how hard I tried I could not find Elizabeth Swann. I had the possessions piled into a room, along with the gold from his account that he left you and I waited. I was starting to suspect you were dead. My advisors routinely told me to just take the money and stop hunting for you. They assured me there was no way you would ever come back. Nobody had heard or seen you in years. But I could not bring myself to keep the wealth. I kept fighting to find you. And lo' I have, and with a child no less. Where might the child's father be?"

"At sea,"

"Ah. I see. Well, if he is at sea then technically the law requires me to wait for his return before bequeathing the money to him, as your husband."

I hate that I had to say next. I covered up Henry's ears, my fingers tight on the sides of his small head. I whispered, "My husband has died at sea, Governor. I received word from his crew. He has been killed. You do not have to worry about him or his pardon anymore."

The governor gave me a sympathetic look and I let my hands fall back to my sides. Henry looked at me with a curious expression. "In that case, there is no problem. The wealth is waiting for you in a room downstairs. Would you like it delivered to your place of residence?"

I did not know for certain how much money father had, but I knew it had to be substantial. After all, he got a cut of taxes. So I hatched an idea. "No, that's not going to be necessary. For now, I'll take a small sum of it and come back for the rest shortly."

The governor made an odd expression, and I was fairly certain he was frustrated that I was not relieving him of his dilemma. It was clearly hard for him to resist such wealth at his disposal. But he must have felt an obligation to father, otherwise I'm sure he wouldn't be offering all of it to me. But he agreed to my request, and escorted Henry and I to the room. We gathered up a healthy amount of coin and left, with the promise of returning. The governor warned that if we were not back in three days he was taking the wealth for himself. But he had no need to worry.

We left the mansion (my old home) and I put Henry up on my shoulders. He held the bag of money in his hands, assuring me he wasn't going to let anyone grab it from him. We went through town, asking around, and eventually we found it. Our home. Our new, very real, home. It's just on the perimeter of the town, far away from the hustle and bustle of Port Royale but every close to the shore. We bought it on the spot, full price, from the seller. We returned the next day with an entire horse and buggy (borrowed for a good sum) to cart our newly acquired riches back to our home.

Money does not solve all problems. But it does make problems easier to burden. I've gone back to having a small garden to keep us fed, but I buy food products from sellers in town. More important than the monetary comfort, I have my things back. My old dresses, even my old bed, are all returned to me. I've sold a great portion of it. I'll have little use for most of it. Although, I will admit, I have kept some of my favorite ruby pieces. Maybe one day I'll have an excuse to wear them again.

Henry has gone back to school again, now that I can afford to have him see a real scholar in town. Things seem to be far more peaceful. I just wish that you were here to share in this peace, and calm.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_


	4. Birthday

Dear Will,

Henry's birthday is today. He's seven now. He's getting more and more anxious to meet you. I keep reminding him he has just two years and some months left before he does. I'm also partly reminding myself.

Will — I feel like I'm losing you. Well, I suppose I already have physically lost you. But I'm not remembering your face as well anymore. I do remember it, I do. But certain details are gone. Faded out. I can't remember the exact shade of your hair, the color of your eyes. It's all of the important things I forget, and the strangest things I remember. I remember how rough your hands can get, I remember the way you used to smell like metal and fire. I remember our life together, but it's as if my memory of you as a person is getting foggier. I'm so afraid that I won't recognize you when we meet again. That's my deepest fear. I am not afraid that you will not show. I know you will.

Unless, of course, you're dead. But I know you can't be. I routinely check the spot where I buried the chest, now that we're living on the same island again. When we lived in Nassau I worried constantly that someone would figure out where I had buried it (though I don't know how they would) and would go and kill you. But now I'm assured almost every day that you are alive and your heart's still beating.

But what if that green flash shows and you step on land for the first time in ten years and I don't even know who you are at first sight. Something tells me that you are not having the same problem. You are so faithful to me, you probably have my image committed to memory. I wish I could prove as loyal. Perhaps you chose wrong, Will. I might not be good enough for you.

Even if I cannot always remember every detail perfectly, I do still love you. Immensely.

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

I had a bit of a reunion with the blacksmith today. He was overwhelmed with relief to know Henry and I were safe. It had never occurred to me to let him know. I figured he didn't care all that much. But it would appear he was concerned regardless. I went in to see him so that he could craft Henry a sword. He obliged, and despite the fact that I proved that I had enough money to pay for it, he insisted that it was on the house. I believe his exact words were something like, "Anything for Will's son. If he ever needs anything, you just let me know."

It would seem that he still remembers you fondly, even if he was an alcoholic. He isn't any more, and probably hasn't been for many years. Obviously not, since he helped me take care of Henry when he was born. He was actually immensely helpful back then, and proves to be of use now too. He's quite thoughtful, he even went so far as to engrave our names. I'm rather jealous, actually. Henry's sword is better, and more beautiful, than my own. But I don't mind much. This sword means as much to me as his sword likely means to him.

He was delighted to receive it, but he's still too small for its weight so the blacksmith has provided us with a small "kids" sword. This one is obviously less personal, as I'm sure he'll grow out of it very soon. But at least he can pick this one up off the ground. We've begun practicing our fencing together and he's actually quite good at it. It's almost as if he was born with the ability. Can't imagine where he would have gotten that from.

I wish you could see him, sweetheart. He looks just like you. It's sometimes painful. I realized today that when Henry turns ten he'll be the same age you were when we met. And I can already tell he'll look just like you. It'll be like a constant reminder of our past. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. But I'm preferential to it being a good thing. I'm so blessed to have you both. I just wish I could have the two of you together at the same time in my life. As it is, it feels like I only have you in my memory. Sometimes I fear everything was a dream. But Henry is my daily reminder that it wasn't. He's here, which means that you are too. Even if I can't see you.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear father,

I hope you're alright. I miss you. Is it possible to miss somebody you've never met? It must be. Because I'm pretty certain I miss you.

Mummy wanted me to write you a letter. She said she's been writing letters to you since she last saw you. She thinks somehow you're able to read the bits of parchment that she stuffs in old bottles and throws in the ocean. I think this makes perfect sense. Mummy insists I've written one to you before, but I don't remember it. I was probably a baby then and didn't know how to write properly yet. But I'm not a baby anymore, and I have learned how to write.

I am learning a lot in school, but none of it is very interesting. My teacher likes me though, so that is good. He has lent me some books to read outside of class, because I always finish our assignments ahead of time. His books are very much more interesting than our school books. They are stories about the sea, and myths about it. Mummy assures me that even though the book says that it's not real, that much of it is. She says you met Davy Jones, but that he was not very nice. I believe her. Mummy is always right about people. She insists that Davy Jones was only a little bit of a person. I don't know if that means he's little or not. Maybe?

I love you father. Please come home soon.

Love love love love,

Henry (your son)

* * *

Dear father

Please watch out for mummy. She is not feeling well. She coughs a lot and feels too warm. I'm scared. She keeps telling me she will be okay but I am worried she is lying.

Henry

* * *

Dear Will

I had a scare recently. Don't worry, it's all alright now. I had a terrible fever that I was fighting through. Henry was really worried, and it killed me to see the look on his face every time I would cough or start sweating. The poor boy. I'm guessing he wrote you. I would have - but I couldn't quite hold a pen steady.

Just know that I'm fine, and I hope to stay fine until we meet again. But you know exactly what I'll do if I know I'm about to die. Don't you worry. You'll see me again one way or another. I promise.

I'm writing from the same beach where we spent our last day together. Your chest is still buried safely, the heart still beating. I realize that this much is obvious to you, but it is a comfort to me. Being sure that you're alive is sometimes the only thing that keep me going. You and Henry are the greatest joys in my life. I really hate living here, pretending to be who I once was. These fancy dresses and gossips are so dull. This was all I did when I was young, all I lived for. It used to be so thrilling. Now it's just dreary. I want nothing more than to be back at seas with you. I long for that freedom again, but I know I shall likely never see it.

Regardless.

I love you.

 _Elizabeth_


	5. Pain

Dear Will,

Eight years today. Eight years ago I buried your heart. I cannot bear to be apart from it anymore. I unearthed it for the upteenth time, but this time I've taken it back home. I did not want to explain to Henry what was in it, so I've hidden it in my bureau. But when he goes to bed at night, sometimes I just sit and listen to your heart beating. It's the closest I can get to you anymore. It's all I have left. I wish I could find a way to make the next two years go faster.

Waiting for you,

Elizabeth

* * *

Will,

I cannot keep telling Henry these stories. I think they're getting to his head. His teacher isn't helping. He lets him read all sorts of books on myths and legends of the sea — most of which are spot on, actually. He's started asking for specifics from our stories. "What did Davy Jones really look like?" "Who else was there?" But I cannot bring myself to tell him all of the terrible truths. How am I supposed to tell a boy that Davy Jones was a horrible monster who murdered hundreds and had a giant kraken that I personally fed Jack Sparrow to? No, he should never know of it. I've decided all together to erase Jack from these stories. I never specified him before when Henry was young, so I shan't tell him now. He seems all too interested in the sea. I know he's going to run off some day, straight for that horizon, and I may never see him again. I could not bare to lose the both of you to the sea. It's better if he never goes looking for anyone we ever sailed with. Better that he never knows his mother's sins. I must spare him this pain.

Elizabeth

* * *

Dear Father,

Mummy is acting funny again. She isn't sick like last time, her forehead isn't too warm and she isn't coughing. But she doesn't get out of bed much anymore. She will rise in the morning to make me breakfast, but when I come back from classes she's back in bed again. I keep asking her why she's so tired but she doesn't say anything. I worry about her father. I wish I could ask you for your advice, but mummy says you can't write back. Is it because you're at sea and paper gets wet too easily? Or is ink really expensive for you? Probably both.

Aside from mum, I've been okay. I do well in school, and I have made a few friends in town. I do their class work and they give me part of their lunches. I think this is how friends act. But I'm not sure. I haven't had a friend before, aside from mummy but I think that's different. My charts show that it's been 3,020 days since you left. Which means, if I'm doing my math right that you have 630 days until you're back again. When I started learning math and I learned how many days there are in a year, I started putting little tick marks on paper to figure out how many days it had been. It took forever to count out, but now I wake up each day knowing how many days are left.

Why does it have to be for only one day? Can you ask whoever controls it to give you at least a week? A day is so unreasonable. I want to be able to spend a lot of time with you, not just one day. It's not fair.

Love you,

Henry

* * *

Will,

I have nothing to do. I don't know how I was keeping myself busy before. There's nothing for me to do now that we have a good amount of money protecting us. I cannot work, I'm a woman. I can raise our son, and I try my best, but he's also gone a lot of the time at school. What am I supposed to do all day? Mostly I just lie here and wait. Henry has started keeping track of the days that are left. He said it was 600 today. That seems impossibly long. The days just stretch on and on. I want it to stop. Sometimes I think about leaving. But I know how foolish that would be. I couldn't do that to you or to Henry. But especially not to you. I just can think of nothing else except for you. I want to see you again so badly. But there is nothing I can do to make the time past faster.

Elizabeth

* * *

Dear father,

Mum still is acting strange. Whenever I ask for a story from her past she gets very angry and defensive. She insists she cannot tell me those stories, but she won't say why. I wish you could tell me these stories father. Perhaps they sound a little bit different from your side?

My teacher has asked me to do a report just for him, so I'm writing about curses. Mum always said the reason we could never see you was because of a curse. So I'm writing about the curse of Davy Jones. It's in this book I have, but it doesn't say a whole lot about it. I'll try adding more to it based off what I remember mum telling me. Hopefully this will be enough.

I love you, I cannot wait for the 547 days to go by.

Love,

Henry

* * *

Will,

I don't know if you were able to experience it for yourself, but there was a dreadful hurricane that just swept through half of the Caribbean. Henry and I were trying our best to barricade ourselves in the house when it hit. We were hiding in the empty closet in my room. I was praying so hard. But then Henry suddenly panicked, worried that he had left a window open in the kitchen. He insisted that if the rain blew in all of his papers that marked the days until your return would either get soaked or swept out in the storm. I tried to stop him from running out of the closet and into the kitchen, but it would appear my lethargy has lead to weakness. I could barely hold him for longer than a minute before he managed to break free. I waited, unsure whether or not to follow him. Maybe he would come back right away? Maybe there was no danger in him running across the house, maybe he would be okay? But the house started to shake. The rain was a pouring deluge. I heard something crash in the house and I burst out to try to find him.

I found him lying on the kitchen floor unconscious, a young palm tree lying across him. The winds appeared to be strong enough to rip trees out of the ground, and this one had gone straight through our wall and fell on our son. He had his papers curled in his tiny hands. I tried so desperately to get the tree off of him, but despite how small it was, it was still heavy. The rain was pouring in, soaking everything in sight. It made the hardwood floor slippery. I used it to my advantage and slowly pushed the tree away from Henry until it started to slide across the wet floor and straight out the hole it had put in our wall. I scooped Henry up and carried him back to the closet, hoping it was still going to be enough to keep us safe.

Miraculously, it did. The house was horribly damaged, and people are working on it as I write. Henry managed to come out alright, but he gave me a terrible scare. I thought he had broken his leg and that it would have to be chopped off. But as far as the physician could tell, he only damaged his ribs, and they seemed to heal well enough on their own. I kept him in bed for a week to make sure that they would. I was so worried about him. Nearly losing him — again — snapped me back to my old self. There's no point in moping around all of the time. I have our son to raise, to protect. And how can I do that if I can't get out of bed?

Love,

Elizabeth


	6. Countdown

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long! I hit a bit of a stumbling block with this. I'm really quite impatient to write their reunion scene (which was outrageously kept out of the end credit scene), so I kind of sped through the passage of time in this section. Apologies again! I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :)**

* * *

Dear Will,

Henry informs me that there is only four hundred days left until you return to us. It seems such a vast number. But Henry reminded me that ten years is three thousand and sixty five days. I honestly don't understand where his propensity for mathematics comes from. It's very contradictory to the constant talk of sea myths and legends. One minute he's able to rattle of numbers and the next he's telling me about the kraken (as if I don't know about it).

I still have sworn off from telling him any more of our story. I'm too afraid it'll send him racing off to the sea. The chances of him doing that were already substantially high, given who his parents are. Add on that his father is stuck at sea and that his teacher is feeding him more legends — and I might as well kiss him goodbye now. But I don't want to. Will, I couldn't bare to lose him to the sea as well.

I truly think he's forgotten the stories I told him when he was young. He remembers you, obviously, and he remembers that the reason we have to wait four hundred days to see you is because of a curse. But the minute details I have kept deliberately vague, and time has favored me in helping him forget those details.

So soon now, darling. I really cannot wait. Is it bad that a very small part of me wishes that Henry didn't have to be there? I know, it's perfectly scandalous isn't it? I'm really quite dreadful. Why did you marry me again? I'm joking, of course.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

I'm going by 100s now. I don't really like knowing every day. So Henry has told me that today is 300. I really can't think of anything anymore except your return. I have tried to sew Henry new clothes (he's already shooting up to the heavens) but I keep losing myself in the midst of it and pricking my own thumb and messing up the stitches. I've had to send for them to be made for him by the tailor down the road instead.

It pains me to know that one day he won't be our little boy anymore. One day he'll be a man, and I can hardly bare to think of it. I have so much love for him. Every now and then I'm painfully reminded of how much time has passed. He tells me it's 300 days, his eyes all lit up with excitement, and in that moment he goes from this darling eight year old boy into the little newborn I cradled in my arms. The whiny, fussy, but precious baby I cared for. His tiny little fingers curling around mine. His bald little head with just whispers of hair there. His abnormally big eyes. And then I feel as if I've been run through with a sword as I realize that you never got to see that, and you never will. Perhaps I can try to draw it out? Probably not. I'm really quite terrible at drawing. I can draw things. I can't draw people. I could sketch the Black Pearl easily, but I doubt if I could draw him. I wonder if there's a painter in town? I'll have to inquire.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear father,

285 days! It's amazing how short of a time that is. I believe I could sail halfway around the world in that time. Perhaps not. I don't know. I've not yet had the chance to sail a ship. I want to ever so much, but mummy won't let me. I have a chum in town who's papa makes deliveries to Eleuthera (which is very close by, although you may have already known that). Anyway, he offered to let me go the route with his papa, it's a very quick ride, but mummy still refused to let me go. She may have caught me trying to sneak out to go anyway.

Why does mummy not want me to go on a ship? She lets me go to the beach any time, even lets me play in the water, but I'm not to go on a ship. Seems rather silly to me. I don't understand her reasoning. But then I'm also very bad at logic in school. It's a very puzzling subject father. You're lucky if you never had to learned it.

Love,

Henry

* * *

Dear Will,

I took out the chest last night and listened to your heart beat for awhile. Is everything okay? It started racing out of control. I was briefly worried you were having heart failure … but I don't suppose that can be possible when the heart is out of the body. What happened? Oh, of course you cannot write back, but I'm praying you are okay. Your heart seems to be just fine now, it's beating quite regularly. I compared it to my own while I was sitting down and realized yours is significantly faster than mine but it was not quite as rapid as it had been last night. I certainly hope, William Turner, that it was not because you were betraying our vows. I will throw your heart right into the ocean where it came from if you did.

But I know deep down that you didn't. I don't think you could if you wanted to. Besides, where on earth would you find a woman in your line of work? Unless they're dead I guess… but that doesn't work either.

I was planning on not writing again until it was 200 days left, but Henry has just now informed me that it is 234 days left. But I just had to write. Even though you cannot reassure me or tell me what happened to you, I still needed to do it.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

Here's to 200 days remaining.

Unfortunately, we've recently had a flood. We get them quite often, actually, but it usually doesn't matter to us. We're fairly high above the waters and it doesn't usually reach us. But this time it was a lot higher than normal and ruined my garden. I still have seeds to replant, but it's going to be a pain in the neck. The weather is still balmy enough to support them, so I can only hope that they do flourish — and quickly. Father's supply of wealth has been dwindling as of late, and I'll have to be buying produce from the farmer down in town for awhile now.

Too bad pirate kings don't get an income.

It will be 199 days in an hour. I'm thrilled and impatient, Will. I want you back in my arms right this instant, not in in 199 days for a few short hours. I hate that this is our fate. I wish there was someway it could all be reversed. But that's wishful thinking, and there's no point in investing time into such impossible thoughts.

Love you dearly,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear father,

150! 150!

Also, please find enclosed in this bottle a coin I found on the beach. I thought it was very pretty. It's very silvery, but apparently worthless and outdated. Mummy said I could send them to you so that you have something of mine. Something to keep with you to remind you of me. That's an odd sentence. I don't quite like it. But I don't know how else to put it.

I love you a lot father. Mummy told me that you loved your father a lot too, that you did something quite heroic for him (she refuses to say what no matter how much I beg). So I promise that I'll do something heroic for you someday. I don't know what yet, but it will be very noble I'm sure. Mummy says I'm her noble knight in shining armor. I don't know how that's possible as I have no armor. But if it means I can do you a heroic act than that is good.

Love,

Henry

* * *

Dear Will,

Just thinking about the fact that it is merely one hundred days until you return is making my own heart race. I wish you could feel it. It's so rare I have anything that makes my heart beat faster these days. Nothing very exciting happens in Nassau. Though I did hear recently that a pirate swindled the barkeep out of a fair chunk of change a week or two ago. Is it bad that I'm angry because I wasn't there? I wish someone could tell me who it was, but nobody got a good look at him. I hope it was Jack. I hope he's still out there pirating on our behalf. I know I wish I was out on the sea. I do desperately wish it every day. But I can't leave Henry.

I've made a new friend recently. She's been helping me get a gift for you when you return. She's a very nice woman, not much older than I am. Her name's Alice. She's been a very dear friend to me. She's helped me grow most of my garden back and even helped Henry with his homework the other day. We've been getting on now smashingly for quite a few weeks, even though I haven't mentioned her to you yet. I mention her now because … well … I had to tell her. Because of the gift that I'm having her help me with, she had to know the truth. And she actually believed me. Then again, it's hard to not believe it when you hear a heart beating inside of a chest. That's what convinced me back when it was Davy Jones' heart in the chest.

She's actually been very supportive of it since I told her. She assured me that when our day comes (in 100 days!) she'll see to the house for us, tend to the chickens and such. I haven't actually had a female friend in ages. I can't really remember when anymore. Maybe I never did have another friend who was my gender? You were my closest friend for near a decade before the Pearl came. And after that … well we both know what happened after that. I didn't have much time for friendships when we were dealing with all of that fuss. And if I did, it was with the likes of the crew and not any normal, unpiratey person. But that's the funny thing, Alice is hardly unpiratey. She told me her father was a sailor a long time ago, and had died at sea and left her and her mother a fortune. She suspects he may have been a pirate, and I'm inclined to believe her. She admitted she was jealous of some of our adventures, as she had always wanted to go out to sea herself but assumed she would not be allowed to. Well, her assumption is correct. But if I ever head out to sea again, I'll be sure to take Alice with me. I think you would quite like her.

But regardless … 100 days!

Love,

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Dear Will,

I've been forcing myself to pretend nothing is happening. I've set to work in actually training Henry to use a sword, now that he can actually hold up the one the blacksmith made for him. It's the only way I can distract myself. Even though it is a constant reminder of our lives together, I try to keep the memories at bay. Because as I'm writing this it's only one month left.

The past three months I've been trying to force myself to forget it's going to happen, because if I think about it too much I get filled with unbearable excitement and irritation all at once. I'm incredibly impatient for this day to come, and I knew that if I thought about it every day I was going to lose my mind. So I asked Henry to keep to himself about how many days were left until we were down to 30 days. And that would be today.

I'm showering this letter with all of my love for you, Will. Your heart is safe with me, and I promise to see you soon. I'm sorry the handwriting is hard to read. I was shaking a bit with nerves and delight.

Love,

 _Elizabeth_


	7. Reunion

April 3rd

A worn path lead conveniently past their house toward the fields further from town, where the lighthouse was. It was a brand new fixture, a contraption using reflective bits of metal and a protected flame to guide sailors to shore. Elizabeth walked slowly. Henry ran ahead and occasionally stopped to make sure he had not run out of sight. She could hardly blame him for being excited. Elizabeth was more calm than she was excited. She knew he would be here soon. Once the sun had dipped to the horizon, "Sunrise sets, flash of green." She muttered under her breath. This was all she had been waiting for for ten years. Henry had been anxious about it for as long as he could remember, counting down the days with tick marks on scratch paper.

Elizabeth had checked the chest that morning, and sure enough the heart within it was still beating strong. She'd put on something more comfortable than what she usually wore day to day as a "lady" of Nassau. She opted for an old shirt she'd once worn on the Pearl, billowy and white again (after hours and hours of cleaning), a vest she'd had made specially, and a long skirt that she had found among her father's possessions that had once belonged to her mother. She found Henry a nice hat in town and decked him up to look like a proper young sailor. He even insisted on bringing his sword with (though Elizabeth insisted that it had to remain in the scabbard). Elizabeth couldn't help but smile as she saw it skirting the grass and hitting Henry's heels as he ran forward. He had grown so much these past years. Soon enough, the sword would not drag on the ground anymore. But she hardly wanted to be thinking of the future right then. No, all that mattered to her was the present.

Henry perched himself on the edge of the hill, looking out at the horizon as he sang the song that his mother had been singing to him since he was born. Elizabeth slowly walked up beside him, glancing down at him. He looked up at her, eyes beaming with hope and anticipation. She wished she could capture the image forever. But instead she simply pulled him close to her, letting her arm rest around his small shoulders. They both waited patiently, quietly, as the sun slowly dove toward the water. Elizabeth's let out a deep breath just as the sun was fully engulfed by the sea. A small smile spread as an emerald flash illuminated the sky and a ship appeared on the horizon. She could hear young Henry gasp and looked down at him. It was a silent moment of reassurance. She knew that for a moment he had doubted, but the proof was before him and he was delighted.

Elizabeth reached into a hidden pocket in the folds of her skirt and pulled out a closed up spyglass, popping it open with a few clicks and holding it up to her eye. Clear as day she could see her husband, holding onto the ratlines and looking toward them. Her heart thrilled and raced far faster than she imagined possible. She quietly handed the spyglass to Henry, who had to use both hands to hold it up. When he spotted his father he couldn't help but burst out, "I look just like him!" This was true, they shared a lot of similar facial features. Elizabeth remembered when she met Will, when he was ten. He was far skinnier than Henry was at the same age, but that had more to do with malnutrition than actual face structures. "You really do." Elizabeth agreed, taking the spyglass and shutting it up again. "Come on, why don't you run down to shore? He'll be here soon." She said, gesturing to the natural decline in the hill that lead toward the sandy beach below. Elizabeth wisely chose not to tell Henry that this was the same beach on which he had been conceived.

Henry raced down the grassy hill, tripping once on the way down. Elizabeth watched him carefully, but struggled to not watch the approaching ship. The _Dutchman_ was anchored not far from shore now. Elizabeth stepped onto the beach just as Will did. She looked up and saw Henry launch himself into his father's arms. Will held the boy close to him, his eyes shut. Elizabeth could just make out his words as she approached them, "I love you too son." She felt a tear fall down her cheek. Her boys had never met each other until now, and it was a beautiful sight.

Will finally put his young son down (as Henry wiped at his face with the back of his hands) and turned to Elizabeth. They both surged forward and held each other as if it was the last thing they would ever do. He felt warmer than she had expected, and smelled so briskly of saltwater. She seemed almost exactly the same to Will, just as he had remembered her. Words were totally unnecessary in that moment. Their physical touch said everything: the longing, the fear, the hope, and the relief. Elizabeth eased her grip on him, letting her muscles relax as she pulled back a bit from her husband. Both exhibited strange smiles that young Henry, who was quietly waiting beside them, could not understand.

"Father," Henry chimed in right as Will was going to kiss his wife (not that Henry could tell of course). Will laughed a little and turned to Henry, "Yes, son?"

"I've got a sword!" Henry said with excitement, carefully withdrawing said sword from the scabbard around his waist.

"And a fine sword it is." Will said, moving to kneel in front of Henry. Henry held the sword flat in his hand, showing it off to his father. "I heard about this. Yes," Will ran a finger along the top most end of the blade where the name "William Turner" was engraved on one side, and he knew the name "Elizabeth Swann" was engraved on the other. "My old friend made it for you, didn't he?"

"The blacksmith, yes." Henry said delightedly.

"You actually … got our letters?" Elizabeth asked quietly from behind Will. She was genuinely flummoxed. She had assumed long ago that there was no possible way that Will could have found them and read them. She always just assumed that they were more or less a therapy for her, a way to cope.

Will stood again, looking over at his wife. He smiled again and nodded. "Every one. I have them all tucked away in my quarters." He nodded toward the ship.

"All of my letters too?" Henry said with a little cry of joy.

"Yes," Will laughed, ruffling Henry's hair, "All of your letters too." He glanced up at the sky, noticing the brightest star in the north had appeared, "Let's head home." He said with deep satisfaction. He reached out and took Elizabeth's hand in his as Henry sheathed the sword again and took his father's other hand. Elizabeth lead the way back with a grin.

* * *

Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the bedroom, trying very hard not to cry. Will was trying to help Henry go to sleep, sitting on the edge of his small bed. "I promise. I will be here when you wake up. I won't be gone until sunset tomorrow. Okay?"

"But what if this is a dream and when I fall asleep I actually just wake up?"

"I promise you, this is not a dream Henry." Will assured him, kissing his son's head, "Go to sleep. You're going to want to be awake all day tomorrow so we can spend as much time as possible together, right?" Henry nodded. "Then it's time to sleep."

"Oh, alright." Henry relented. "But can you tell me a story first?"

"Which would you like to hear?"

"I don't care. Any story."

Will hummed in thought before deciding, "Once upon a time, a little boy was born. But he was born without a father nearby. He knew he had one. His mother reminded him that his father was a sailor, just out at sea. He would be home someday. But this little boy was not sure, that is, until he got a gold piece sent to him from his father. Desperate to find his father after his mother passed away, the boy set out to sea to find him. But the ship that would take him to the Caribbean, where he knew his father should be, was attacked by pirates. The boy jumped from the ship, but as he was falling was hit by debris and knocked unconscious. Luckily, he landed on some wood that had fallen from the ship, and floated away mostly unharmed. When he woke again he was on another ship, a girl standing over him. She said she was watching over him. Which was a good thing, considering he passed out again shortly thereafter. But this boy would find that she would indeed look after him, for years and years just as he would look after her."

Henry's eyes had started to fall shut halfway through the story, and as Will quietly finished he assumed his son to be asleep. But despite his closed eyes the boy mumbled, "Who is the little boy? I thought it was me but it's not."

Will smiled to himself and murmured, "That little boy was me. Your mother saved my life when I was your age." Henry nodded and almost instantly fell asleep. Will kissed his son's cheek once before turning to leave the room. He was surprised to find Elizabeth standing there in the doorway. He blushed a bit, not not realizing he had an audience larger than just his sleepy son. "Oh, did you hear that?" He whispered, not wanting to wake the boy.

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes puffed up a bit as tears spilled down her cheeks. She wished that Will could have told Henry stories since the day he was born. She wished he could have rocked him to sleep every night. But overwhelming this thought was the memory of that day. She distinctly remembered the day she found Will. He was right. She never stopped protecting him. And he never stopped protecting her. They had fought for and defended each other for years. Even with ten years of separation, that had not changed a bit. Elizabeth reached forward and took Will's hand in hers, pulling him out of the room and shutting the door quietly.

The second she shut the door she turned around and kissed him, letting go of his hand only to wrap her arms around him. It was sweet and slow for maybe ten seconds, then it got intense. If absence made the heart grow fonder, it also made it long for more. The two pulled apart only long enough to head back out of the house back toward the remote hill by the lighthouse, knowing they would need more privacy than her bedroom could offer.

* * *

Elizabeth looked down at Will, the moon making it bright enough for her to see. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. This was all the bliss she'd been craving for a decade, and all the peace he had desperately needed. "Why is it that I always end up looking down at you?"

"Because usually I'm getting knocked out by something?" He guessed with a little laugh. "Let's see, the first time I was completely unconscious, the second time the kraken happened, and the third time I was dying."

"Don't remind me." Elizabeth said quietly, "That time was terrible."

"I know, but it's alright now."

"How?"

"Well, the last couple of times you've had to look down at me - were usually under more pleasant circumstances." He pointed out with a smirk.

He was right. She was lying beside him in the grass, amongst the stars, looking down at him with the kind of look in her eyes only lovers possessed. And the time before that had been on the beach just below them ten years ago. "Fair enough." She admitted. Her eyes shifted over toward the massive expanse of black sea before them. Will didn't take his eyes off her. "I wake up every morning and look at the horizon. Just in case."

Will's smile faded to something more melancholy, "As did I. I wanted to come back every day. Each letter was reassuring, but it was painful too."

"I'm sorry. I won't send them anymore if you don't want me to." Elizabeth had never considered that the correspondences could induce pain. But now she could see why clear as day, and suddenly felt terrible for having been insensitive.

Will shook his head, "No, please, send them. But perhaps mostly with good news. Some of them made my heart jump."

"Really? I don't remember hearing it flipping around inside the chest." She teased.

"Oh hush, you know what I meant." He said, rolling his eyes.

She sighed softly, playing with his long hair again, "I'm sorry for causing you pain like that. I didn't meant to frighten you. I tried not to."

"I know. But I still want to hear word once in awhile. It's the only thing that makes doing the job somewhat bearable. They just seem to gravitate toward the ship somehow." He tried to explain, but failed. When he was sailing in the Locker, the bottles would literally burst out from the waves and usually ended up on the deck. It was as if they knew exactly where to go. But he couldn't explain such magic. Not that he really could explain any of the magic in their lives. One day of vacation after ten years of work had little reason behind it as well.

"Can I ask you something?" She murmured tentatively.

"Anything,"

"Are you able to send anything back? I … what's happened the last ten years for you? You haven't said anything about it yet."

Will sighed softly, "I've tried to send things back. But they never worked. I would use the same bottle you would send me to try and send a reply but the it would just float around the Dutchman for days, not going anywhere. It appears to be a one-way path."

"Alright, so catch me up then." She laid down then, letting her head rest in the crook between shoulder and torso. Her arm looped around his bare waist comfortably. "We've got hours until the sun rises. So hurry it up then, ten years in a few hours. Go."

Will was trying not to laugh, "Well, the first few years were uneventful. It was just a matter of learning to do the job. It took awhile to get used to all the sorrow. It's … quite depressing actually. I can talk to the dead and they can talk to me. I've heard so many tragic stories. Children dying in their parents arms, parents dying after childbirth, all of that. So your letters back then were a great distraction from all the sadness. But eventually I got used to all the misery, regret, and anger that the souls carried. Rarely did anything eventful happen. About five years ago was when the only really notable thing happened."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"My father died."

Elizabeth immediately sat up, her hair falling back down her bare shoulders. "What? Oh, Will. How?" She had not known his father all that well, having only met him once, but she knew the pain of losing one's father.

"He just got old. Half of the original crew are dead now anyway. Once I settled their debts, they were free to age normally. It was only the power of the Dutchman that allowed them to exist in the Locker at all. But eventually he got sick and died in the night. I woke in the morning to find his body gone and his soul waiting patiently in the longboat in the water. I was able to guide him to the other side. It brought me a lot more closure than it might have otherwise. I knew where he was going, and I knew it would be alright." He said calmly, despite a tear falling down the side of his face.

Elizabeth ran her thumb down from the corner of his eye, "It's alright." She let out a soft sigh, "I'm so sorry, Will." She said, lying back down in the same position and holding him tight in her grasp. "I know that it hurts."

"It doesn't hurt as much now."

"I know, but the pain never quite goes away." Elizabeth whispered. Her father had died ten years ago, and she still felt a small stab of pain when she remembered him. She was grateful that his fortunes had fared her well after his death, but it didn't help soothe the pain.

They were quiet for a long stretch, lying mostly naked in the grass. "I don't want you to leave." She said under her breath.

"I know. I don't want to leave either. But we have many hours left. Let's not spend them thinking about the end of our time together. Let's enjoy what we have." He reminded her, looking over at her. She was so close to him, with her head resting on his shoulder. She quietly agreed with him just before bridging the distance to kiss him for the hundredth time since he had returned home.

 _The Next Morning_

Henry woke up, stretching in his bed as the sun filtered in his window. He blinked a few times, thinking of what he might learn at school that day. A few minutes later it finally dawned on him that he was not going to school today, because his father was home. His father was home! He scrambled out of bed and bolted to the main room. His father was sitting on their sofa beside his mother, who looked rather tired with her head resting on his shoulders. Henry jumped up beside his father, snuggling up next to his side.

Will wrapped one arm around his son's shoulders as he flipped through the handbound pages of a small book. Each page had an intricate drawing in ink of Henry at different ages. It had been the gift that Elizabeth had tasked her friend Alice to make him. She had been able to describe how Henry looked from memory, and Alice had drawn the verbal descriptions out. One or two drawings of Elizabeth had been snuck in toward the end, Alice's own contribution. Henry pointed over at the image of a young toddler, "Who's that?"

"It's you." Will and Elizabeth said simultaneously.

Henry laughed, "Really? I was cute."

"You're _still_ cute." Elizabeth laughed.

"I am?" Henry giggled playfully.

Will shut the book closed with a laugh before pulling his son into his lap, wrapping his arms around him. "Oh yes. The most adorable young man I've ever seen."

"No, no, no. I'm not cute! I'm a pirate. Just like you, father." Henry insisted, beaming up at his father with joy.

"Would you rather be called handsome?" His mother asked kindly, fixing her son's wild hair that had mussed up overnight.

"Yes please." Henry agreed.

"Our handsome little boy." She said fondly, tucking his hair back behind his ear.

"Father, can we go swordfight? Can we, can we, can we?" Henry pleaded, practically bouncing up and down on his father's knees.

Will couldn't help but laugh, "Yes, go on and fetch yours." Henry whooped with delight as he soared back upstairs to his room.

Within the hour, the family of three was standing on the hill beneath the lighthouse all wielding swords. Elizabeth and Will would demonstrate for their son, "Remember, footwork is critical. You always want to keep your balance." His mother reminded him as his father deliberately positioned his feet in an unnatural position. Elizabeth used it to her advantage, stepping forward and thrusting her sword that she had made herself toward her husband. Naturally, it didn't hit. But it did demonstrate how easy it was to lose your balance. Will stumbled and just barely caught his balance in time. "See?" He asked his son, "Always make sure you have a steady balance and that you keep your feet spread apart." Henry nodded quietly and stood with his feet apart, holding his sword up. It was still a little heavy for him, but he was managing it well. "Show me." Will asked, shifting his feet into an odd position again. Henry tried to lunge forward with his sword, stepping awkwardly forward and losing his balance.

Will easily knocked the sword out of his son's hand. Henry grumbled irritably as he stumbled to pick his sword up. They started over. This time Henry was more careful, advancing successfully toward his father and knocking him off balance successfully. Will laughed as he fell over, "Very good, son. Very good." Henry whooped with delight as his father got back on his feet. "Your turn, sweetheart. I'd rather not be beaten by a ten year old twice in one day."

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile, "Oh, no worries. Goodness knows he can't beat me." She teased, knowing full well the whole point was to let Henry beat them. She gestured for her son to spar with her, and he eagerly ran over with his sword, advancing and lunging the sword toward his mother. There were strict instructions to tap rather than stab, not that it was incredibly hard to avoid when Henry was still learning. Elizabeth easily parried the attack and retreated quickly. This kept up for quite awhile. Henry would advance, his mother would retreat before he could land a blow. He finally seemed to figure out that it was better to be patient and wait for her to strike first than continually advance.

This was how the majority of their day played out. Will and Elizabeth would spar as a demonstration for their son, and then both would proceed to either be deliberately defeated by Henry or easily beat him. In fact, the family was so blissfully happy with their practice that nobody took much notice of the passage of time. Eventually, none of them could ignore their pangs of hunger for much longer. Elizabeth and Will felt an even sharper pain elsewhere, reminding them that they had such little time left. Nonetheless, the family sheathed their swords once more and headed for home.

They sat down around the table back at home and Elizabeth struggled to quiet the thoughts in her head: _this is the only time he's ever eaten with us_ , _I don't even know his favorite food_ , _this will never happen again - we will never eat as a family again, even if he makes it to the twentieth year Henry will be an adult_ , and _if only time would stop_ were among her varying thoughts. They sat down and quietly ate their meal. Elizabeth had made something in the morning, but she wasn't paying any attention to what she was eating. All she knew that there were only a few hours left. An unshakeable panic grew in her gut. She couldn't eat. She pushed it away from her and noticed Will hadn't touched it at all. She knew it wasn't a personal offense, but rather that he was feeling the same as she was.

"Why are you both being so quiet?" Henry interrupted their sad thoughts. Both glanced over at their son and then to each other, unsure of how to respond. Before they could articulate anything, Henry decided to answer the question himself, "You're leaving soon. Aren't you, father?"

Will glanced from his wife to his son and let out a sigh. "Yes. In a couple hours. When the sun sets I will be on my ship again and I will … have to go back."

"Why?" Henry asked calmly.

"That's the way of the curse, Henry. Do not think for a second that I _want_ to leave." Will said firmly, hoping to leave no doubt in his son's mind that he loved him and his mother dearly.

Henry nodded glumly, no longer interested in his food either. Elizabeth was perfectly finished with being in this terrible mood. She knew that they still had a couple of hours, but were they meant to be spent dreading the inevitable? "Alright, get up." Elizabeth said sharply as she stood, "Nobody will eat anyway, and I'd rather not spend these last few hours sulking. Let's go." Her son and husband silently agreed and followed her out of the house, back toward the lighthouse and the beach where Will would be departing from soon.

Will exchanged a confused look with his son, wondering what exactly she was up to. With a soft sigh, she stopped walking across the sand. The _Dutchman_ was already anchored on the horizon, an ominous reminder. But Elizabeth seemed to ignore it as she turned her back to the sea and slowly sat down in the sand. "Come now," She said plainly to her boys as she ran her hands into the sand. Henry didn't hesitate to plop down in the sand next to his mom. He recognized now what she was doing, and fondly remembered doing this with her before. Will slowly eased down beside her as the two started building a shape in the sand. He smiled to himself as he helped. Slowly but surely, a castle grew and grew up from the sand in which it was made. Elizabeth carefully added details into the sandcastle, carving out windows and doorways. Henry kept expanding at the base and even went so far as adding a little moat to the castle. Little to no words were exchanged. They simply weren't needed yet. They could all just enjoy spending time with each other in relative peace, at least for now.

The sun felt stronger on the nape of Elizabeth's neck. She knew it would be burned, but she didn't care. Perhaps it would serve as a reminder that this day had happened at all. She turned to look at the sea. The _Dutchman_ was closer to the shore and the sun was now grazing the horizon. "Will," She muttered softly, turning back to look at him, "It's time." He glanced at the sea momentarily and nodded. Henry looked too and shook his head, "No, no." Will stood with a sigh as Henry raced toward him, his small arms wrapped like a vice around his father's waist. "Don't go, don't go. Please don't go. I love you too much to let you go again, Daddy."

Will rested a hand lightly on his son's back, "I know. I know you don't. But I'm afraid you don't have much say in the matter, and neither do I."

"Can't you just quit? Stop being captain?"

"It doesn't work like that either son." Will explained gently, slowly pulling away from his son's grip and kneeling before him. He wrapped his arms around his young son and held him tight. "I love you son. I will see you again. I promise. But right now, you have to let me go."

Henry buried his face against his father's shoulder and stifled a sob before letting go of his father quietly. Will stood again to face his wife, who was oddly expressionless as she had watched the painful goodbye between father and son. "Elizabeth," He whispered under his breath, stepping toward her. She hated the look on his face, one she had seen too many times before: pain. The way he had looked last time, ten years ago, on this same beach. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, a hand resting on his neck. He pulled her closer, a hand on her waist and kissed her a bit harder. He needed to remember this for ten years. Neither of them noticed Henry looking away quietly. They finally parted and Elizabeth seemed to shake her head ever so slightly. "I'll see you in ten years then?"

"You have my word."

"I love you, Will Turner." She said, her voice wavering against her will.

"And I love you, Elizabeth Turner." He said earnestly, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. "Keep a weather eye on the horizon."

"I promise." She said, unwillingly letting her hold on him go. They both let out a soft sigh of pain just as he turned away and headed for the water. Henry scrambled to his mother's side, holding her hand tight. He was openly sobbing now, and not trying to suppress the cries. Will walked toward the sea, only letting the tears fall when his back was to his family. When the water got to his knees, he was able to simply disappear to his ship.

Mother and son watched as the ship neared the horizon. He was almost out of sight when the sun dipped below the horizon and a green flash spread across the sea. She squeezed her son's hand as tight as she could. "It's alright." She managed to choke out to her son. "It'll be alright."


	8. Notice!

_A/N: Hey everyone! Were you hoping for an update? Excited to read more? Well don't worry! There is more to read, it's just not here. I have started a sequel detailing the next nine years of the Turner family's misfortune: Inbetween. I have listed it separately as it will no longer follow the letter format and is going to be, more or less, a separate story that will alternate perspectives from time to time. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope to see you there!_


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